Consequences Of Negligence And Jealousy
by AResidentGhost
Summary: When a jealous American family that branched from the ancient de Chagny line commits a grievous crime, it sets off shockwaves that will continue unabated until the long displaced curse is implemented by the mere action of one wicked lady. Modern Day.
1. Prologue

The house on the lake was in tatters, so destroyed was it that it barely resembled her fading memories. She could barely stifle the melancholy sob that threatened to escape her throat. _All the beauty, knowledge and accumulated relics—they were all destroyed in a rage born from the blackest despair, most likely because he thought I would never keep my promise and_ _return_, Christine thinks to herself. A tear forms in her right eye, overflowing the delicate lower lid and trickling down her cheek.

The man whom Erik would refer to as Daroga or a "great booby", the same man everyone else simply referred to as _le Perse_, took notice of her presence. He looks up at her from a lone surviving stuffed chair, and says, "Mademoiselle Daaé?" Christine nods without saying a word. He then gets up and motions for her to follow him. He leads her to the Louis-Philippe room, where once she stayed, the memory still vivid in her mind, although even then it was already fading.

"He is dying, mademoiselle," the Persian speaks. "As I suppose you probably already know." She knows this deep in her heart, and has since she saw the ad in the _Époque_. "He would like to see you alone, one last time before he is totally gone. He has something to say or give to you that he refuses to tell to me about."

She walks in the room that once was filled with fresh flowers for her as he plunges again into yet another terrible coughing fit. She runs to his side, weeping openly tears that she had long ago denied could ever happen again. He has his mask off, she notices as he turns his terrible head towards the sound of her quiet crying, dark, lifeless eyes wet with unshed tears. Unlike the times before that she had seen him, she does not flinch. The corners of his twisted mouth turn in a tiny, pained smile.

"Do not…do not cry, …_ma cherie_," he whispers pleadingly. Gone is the rich and sensual voice that could overpower a hundred men or calm the most troubled heart. "It will be…over…soon, …I believe. No more…will you need…to think…of me again, _ma petite_… Remember…that from now on, your…family…" He coughs again and she dutifully rubs his bony chest to massage the ache away. "Your family…will always have…a guardian angel…watching over them."

"I brought you the ring you had me keep, Erik," Christine sobs.

"You may do as I instructed…when I am dead… But," he sighs. "I will give you another ring, a _special_ ring, imbued with a strange magic and a…link…to my eternal soul… A token—if you will—of my…everlasting…love for you…and a sign that I am… watching…over your…family." He is quiet and so still that she thinks he has finally passed on, but he grabs her arm in his deathly sold hands and says, "However, if you or your descendents should ever break your promise by losing, selling, or _damaging_ the ring, I cannot be…responsible…for what will happen. A curse placed long ago…will be…fulfilled."

And with that, his grip relaxes and the little fire remaining in his eyes went out. He was dead, after all this time, and all the pain and hardships he had to live through. Acting upon his final wishes, she completes them silently, with the help of the Persian for some of the more laborious tasks set out, weeping the whole time as only those touched by a greater, darker love of the most terrible kind cry when they lose the one that had touched them.

Christine and Raoul were married and traveled to the great northlands, producing from their love, many strong children. The strongest of the bloodlines that could be traced down the generations to two families: one in America, in hiding from their own relatives and the French police for a grievous crime done out of spite and bitterness, and the other, still in France, holders to the titles, lands, and fortunes, still grieving the loss of their first-born son, the culmination of the line with the strongest of the de Chagny blood running through his veins.


	2. Chapter 1: Escape And Change

Jackie Deshawny, last of the American branch of the direct line from Christine Daaé's marriage to Raoul, _le Comte de Chagny_. In the early 1920's, her ancestors had come to America and changed their name to try to break away from the scandals surrounding and attached to the young couple's marriage and consequently, the proud de Chagny name. However, the pure bloodlines from Christine and Raoul's marriage are not as narrow as one might think. The second, purer branch never left for America. They had been living in England, however, and did eventually come back to France and retake their rightful properties fro the diluted blood of the relatives. But we are only concerned with Jackie Deshawny and her "adopted" son, Radian Deshawny, _nee_ de Chagny. Yes, he was born to the de Chagny title and fortune, but through some shady dealings, involving kidnapping and murder, he ended up in the wicked person's household.

Anyways, Jackie was planning a garage sale, and Radian was having a tremendous argument with his so-called "mother" about a certain ring he has had in his possession for as long as he could remember. The point of the argument was that Jackie wanted him to sell the ring, calling it a "worthless piece of junk jewelry", a "piece of costume jewelry and only that", and that it was her right to decide what to do with it. _And,_ she thought to herself, _if I cannot have it nor sell it, I should wreck it! Then he will no doubt agree to sell it! Ha!_

He knew she was wrong, as always, that she only wanted the money so she could spend it on things for _her_ children, and that it was a link to his real past and his personal guardian angel who has helped him through many a night and crisis.

Slamming the door to his attic room, he collapses on his hard bed and weeps. Stifling back a sob, he removes his secret box that only opens for him and takes out the confiscated letters from his true mother and father. _Soon, momma, soon. Soon I'll be coming home, mama et papa, hopefully within the week. I hope I can escape without this bitch's noticing, for if she does, she'll certainly prevent me. I already have the tickets, thanks to you, papa,_ he thinks to himself and smiles.

She will be gone for a week, for her "work", he was told at the end of last week, after the argument when he awoke and she was nowhere around. _And timed perfectly. Thank you, mon_ _Ange_, _Erik, _he whispers to his ever-faithful guardian angel. He has already packed his meager belongings and sent them ahead to his _real_ home, which he hasn't seen since he was four years old. _They will be waiting for me at the Charles De Gaulle Airport for me. Goodbye, torturers, and may I never see you again._ The angry thoughts come unbidden, well, not really unbidden, to his mind as he entered the taxi which would take him to the airport.

He has made sure that he has the ring as he leaves for France. But it doesn't _feel_ right; it feels as if it was wrong somehow. Sure it fit, and looked correct down to the last detail. But wait, what is that? On closer inspection, there _was_ something missing. Very tiny, and almost imperceptible, a gash was slashed through one of the tiny figures encircling the ring! Not good, is it. No, not good at all. Another thing was _different_ about the precious and ancient band. It smelled, in fact, when it had never smelled before. Oh sure, occasionally, when times went wrong and he sought guidance, he would catch the smell of roses, incense, and old death; but this is different now. The smell, which caught his attention, now is that of burnt ashes, cemetery dust, and blood that was not freshly spilled. And something else… A very slight smell, but there nonetheless… A hint of vinegar and abrasive cleansers… She had cleaned it to try and hide her crime! _She_ must have done this, a crime that was long forbidden by familial (and supposedly superstitious) traditions! If this is the truth, that would be the cause of the smell. The ancient connection is broken! What will he do now without his familiar guide and guardian angel?

It started during the flight over the Atlantic Ocean. The consequences would be terrible and the price high for Radian, who had never accepted his kidnappers' renaming him as Steven. It was slight at first, just a mildly annoying tingling sensation in his limbs and body, particularly in his hands and fingers. He felt that it was just because of the cramped space aboard the plane and the pain of not having moved from the same position for so long. It soon grew almost overwhelmingly painful. He had steadily been losing weight over the past two weeks for no reason he could think of, and now he wondered if this sensation was caused by the same "sickness" that was causing his weight loss.

For some strange reason, he noticed with acute and painful clarity, his hands were growing! Lengthening, thinning, and becoming quite bony, they, however, felt comfortable, completely and totally natural—as if that is how they were meant to be. And he himself was growing, bone structure changing, shifting, becoming somehow stronger yet at the same time, thinner, more delicate-seeming. And then, all these changes seemed to stop. Visibly, that is. The Change, as he would come to call it, was not over. Though thin and gaunt, and having a much smaller and flatter nose, he could still pass off as being a human being, which he is. And despite appearances, the changing hadn't stopped, but merely slowed down incredibly.

His real parents welcomed him and greeted him with joy. Noticing what had and was happening (for they understood even if he didn't), they hurried him through customs and back to the ancient de Chagny estate before it was complete and a disaster would be unavoidable.

By the time they got home, Radian (or as a voice that was steadily overwhelming his mind and identity said, "Erik") was now well over six feet tall, very near seven feet, missing only by about two or three inches. He was positively skeletal by then, and his eyes were set so far into his head that the newly golden orbs could not be seen, and his nose… Oh, his nose! There is so little of it left that it cannot be seen from the side, and where it once was is now nothing but a black cavity!


	3. Chapter 2: Explanations

Memories of a life, from a point of view of a person that he has never known before, swim in his head. This presence that is in his head is threatening to destroy what is left of his life, such as it is now, along with the identity he has grown up with and therefore has known all his relatively short life. Who was—or _is_—Erik? What the hell is he now? _What kind of creature, what _thing_, am I now?_ Radian questions silently as these and other, stranger thoughts run through the young man's head.

He studies his countenance in the small, gilt-framed hand mirror. Tears well up in his shadowed eyes, pooling in the deep sockets, and roll down his hollow cheeks. He watches his tears fall as he strokes the cold, unfeeling glass in which his vaguely terrifying, corpse-like visage is contained. The cold surface refuses to yield to his persistent and somewhat pleading caresses. He senses another presence in the room in which he hid when he entered into his real, ancestral home. Still a child in the eyes of most countries' laws, as he was still only sixteen—even in his changed body, the new body was not old, but incredibly young, the same age as his _original_ body.

He doesn't even look up as he asks, "Why? Why me? Why this? What did I do to deserve this?"

His father sits down on the bed next to Radian and places an arm around his son. For despite the extreme change in looks, and minute, odd changes to his personality, Lucien de Chagny still loves his son. To him, it doesn't matter what is on the outside, it is the inside, the character, the soul, which makes up a man (or woman), not the physical self. But still his father had not seen quite clearly the full extant of the distortion and changes wrought upon his body by the long-displaced curse. Radian, knowing full well what he looks like, turns away so as not to repulse his father. Lucien, sensing this strange distrust in his son, gently turns his son's face around so that he could look Radian fully in his eyes.

"We tried for generations upon generations to stave this off, this…this curse, although we were not really sure what the curse fully entailed. We could only guess, and so it eventually passed into the realm of familial mythology and superstition, just another tale to keep the younger generation both amused and obedient. In its own way, the curse became an effective boogeyman, sparking fear of unknown punishments for bad behavior that was not wanted. In this way, it was told to you in particular, but also your siblings when they were younger. Few believe or believed in the curse, although it is always at the back of our minds. That is how we recognized, albeit almost too late, what was happening as you came home.

"The legend, according to how I was told, started with a simple promise, made many, many years ago, between your ancestors Raoul and Christine de Chagny and a rather shadowy figure. Supposedly, this man had loved Christine as he had never loved before, and for some reason, it was destined to be his only love. It was never explained why she was his only love, only that the mademoiselle was his first and last. When he was dying, nay, almost dead, he had made her swear a promise to never be forget and gave her the ring, whispering of a curse placed on him long ago, when he was still a child as a result of circumstances he could not control. Something to do with a traveling carnival sideshow, the Gypsies, and being forced to perform or some such nonsense of that sort. Anyways, he stressed quite strongly the importance of that ring you and generations of the first-born de Chagny line have worn before you, and the respect that must be given. Do you remember the rules that the legend claimed, Radian?"

"Yes," he sighs. "Never sell it. Never destroy or damage it. Never bath it in chemicals or abrasive polishes. Never lose it. Always wear it. Yes, I remember."

"So, for some reason or another, am I correct, that the warnings were not lies, but the truth?"

Radian speaks, "Yes. But why me? Why now?"

His father produces a book. "This may help to answer some of your questions, although I do not know. Handle it carefully, as it is very old, and probably brittle, too," his father sighs. Lucien reaches over and kisses Radian's head, stands up, and leaves with tears in his eyes.


	4. Chapter 3: The Diary

He opens the dusty, black leather-bound tome. A smell of dust, age, and incense assaults his surprisingly sensitive (even though it is basically nonexistent) nose.

"_To whoever reads this,"_ Radian reads, _I am sorry for what has happened, if anything."_

"Did the author of this handwritten book _know_ what would—no, _has_—happened to me?" he mumbles, not aware that he is speaking his thoughts _aloud_. He continues reading the childish red script.

"_I would not wish this so-called 'curse' that has plagued me all my life, this farce of a living being, upon another, ever. I am neither normally superstitious nor religious, though when I was a young boy, before an event, which out of fear from painful memories of neglect, abuse, and seclusion that I suffered, I had religion drilled into me and crammed down my throat at every chance. Not that my family was a bunch of religious fanatics, it is just that they all believed me to either be the child of a demon, a changeling, or the result of some grievous sin they had committed in the past. These forced beliefs and penance for sins I had no knowledge of, other than perhaps just being born, pushed me away from the religious beliefs that I was taught and surrounded with. I had run away at an early age, thinking that the world outside couldn't possibly be any worse than in my family's 'home'. I soon caught up with a band of gypsies. They were wary of me and my mask at first, assuming that I was either a thief that would slit their throats in the night or a demon born of darkness come to steal them away._

"_Then, what I knew would be inevitable, someone spotted me when I was bathing in a nearby stream. I, of course, thought I was alone at the time, and therefore I had removed my mask to wash and clean my face—an important task in itself that was one thing my mother taught me right—which, unfortunately, due to the situation in which I found myself, was delayed for several weeks—actually since I joined their little band. My face, of course, was not something any sane person could keep to oneself much less forget, for a very long time._

"_This lead to me being caged and forced to perform against my will at first, night after night, until I escaped. I knew a surprising amount about gypsy magic, which is why I am writing this account. When I left, the band that I had been traveling with for the past four years was, of course, terribly angry with my leaving. As I rode away, I plainly heard them curse me with a potent curse. The curse was such: 'When you find love, the firstborn of the next generation—male or female—will be cursed to the same fate to which you were born. And from that generation on, the line will suffer the same fate.' Thus I crafted the ring, which you and your ancestors have most assuredly worn, am I correct? I crafted the simple band out of virgin gold—gold that had never been minted nor used before—and imbued them with ancient counter-magic I have learned from the Far East. And if this is being read in the future, I shall rest in peace knowing that my efforts did not go to waste. I just hope that the world will be more accepting of those that are different at the time that this story is being read."_

Radian closes the cover of the leather-bound volume. He is unwittingly crying, over his particular fate, and what he knows now will be his children's also, _if_ he ever finds love with this new body of his. He wishes he knew more of this poor creature, which he knows, in the end, was just a man. A man that through no fault of his own had been cast out for much of his life, just as assuredly as he would be, too.


	5. Chapter 4: The Following Two Weeks

The following two weeks pass too quickly for Radian's taste. His father has hired a private tutor, one who would not be repulsed by his son's visage, to help him catch up with his education and also help him renew the fluency in his native language that he once had. Although he could easily read and write in French still when he came home, he was having a hard time communicating verbally in this tongue. Why, you might ask? Because for all those years that he was separated from his family by the kidnapping, he was never allowed to speak in anything but English. He did, however, manage to keep his knowledge of the language in the written word. This had to be kept secret, as he was forbidden any chance to speak his first language or have contact with it in any media. Despite these almost violently restrictive practices, he still managed to smuggle in items if French origin and works of literature written in his native tongue every chance he had to do this act. So, in his own way, Radian was quite well off upon his return.

Around the second week (approximately) of staying in his immense private room, he starts to venture out, having overcome the horror of his new countenance. It is nearing his true birthday, which he was told the truth about his birthday (that what he had been told since he was five was wrong) by his father, Lucien. And all this time he thought he was already sixteen! Although the false birthday was only off by a little less than a month he learned.

It is the evening of June 13, a Friday, which Radian finds quite ironic, that he will _really_ meet his siblings for the first time. He has already told his father that he will be joining them for dinner this night. Radian is finally sure of himself and has steeled himself for the almost assured rejection he believes, nay, _knows_, he will face from his siblings. Most of them are certainly uneasy about his presence in the house, even when he was hidden in his room, and who would be stupid enough to not consider the fact that his new face is but a farce compared to what his face once used to be. Even now it makes his stomach turn to look upon his countenance, and he understands other people's revulsion as if he looks upon himself in a mirror, he himself becomes quite sick. It was like that at first, and though he doesn't admit it anymore, it still does, although not quite so bad anymore. He has managed to overcome that, at least. What he does not know, however, is that one of his cousins, the one that is staying at the _maison_ for a vacation is a very obsessed fan, although she is not that knowledgeable of the original having read the novel once and being disappointed at the title character not being sexy like Gerard Butler in the new movie (her favorite movie), of "_Le Fantôme de L'Operá"_.

Radian is excited to finally meet the rest of his family, even those who were not alive yet when he was kidnapped, yet he is also quite nervous and uneasy about this new development. He is not sure how the rest of the family, including his mother, will react, although his father and uncle, whose name is Sebastian, have seen him after the _Change_, his _mother_, Amellé, and the rest had not, especially since he holed himself in his bedroom, trying to delay the inevitable.

_Take things one at a time,_ he tells himself as he tries to at least make himself look presentable. _If I can get through this, maybe I will have a future after all… That is, I hope I will… I hope I will not be sent away… Sent away because of this face that was forced upon me not long ago…_


	6. Chapter 5: Dinner With Family

Radian checks his hair for the last time in the mirror before he descends to the dining room. _I hope I don't scare or sicken them too badly,_ he thinks to himself, trying to gain confidence for what will surely happen when he steps into the room—without a mask, as so far he has refused to wear a mask or be fitted for one. He claims that it brings too many bad and unwanted memories that he himself has no claim to. Radian knows he would not have these "memories" if not for the curse placed upon him by the jealous and terrible deeds wrought by his kidnappers, especially his so-called "mother", Jackie Deshawny. He shudders at the mere thought of that witch's name. _Will I ever be free from her?_ He wonders silently, negotiating with himself about the possible psychological damage she may have (even if it was unintentional) inflicted upon him in his formative years. Unsure of himself and his actions, he leaves his room and journeys to the dining room. As he enters the previously specified room, an uneasy hush falls upon the occupants—namely, his real family, his close uncle—Sebastien, and that one annoying girl that he was warned about previously by that very same uncle.

Radian, becoming suddenly _frightened_ by the large amount of people being exposed to his now-twisted face, stammers, "Hello?" Inside his head he is thinking: _No doubt everyone is horrified by this ugliness, which I bear through no fault of mine._ He lifts his eyes from their focus on his feet and the floor, only to be greeted by what he wished would never happen. _Everyone is staring,_ he thinks to himself as he notices that all their faces and eyes are all focused upon him—specifically, he believes, his face. _This is not going very well… Not very well at all…_

The normally distracted fifteen year old takes one glance at Radian and her eyes widen as she believes she recognizes who he is supposedly "imitating" with clever make-up and prosthetics. She squeals with glee, although Radian has no idea what to think of it, as he is none too handsome anymore. A pity that is, because he knew himself to be quite good-looking before the _Change_, to the point of having had quite a few _random_ young girls dare each other to ask him out on dates. Any young man would be proud to have this happen to them, but with all the abuse and derogatory comments and treatment by his kidnappers, especially the one who calls herself Jackie, he was very unsure of himself with the opposite sex and stupidly turned many of them down, especially if _she_ was nearby or caught wind of what he wanted to do. _She_ knew that if someone recognized him as Radian and not Steven, the kidnappers would be caught, put on trial, and most likely jailed for a very long time, and of course, _she_ did not want that, but since his escape, justice is finally being served, a justice long overdue.

The seemingly stupid and hyper teen squeals with delight: "_Oh mon dieu! Oh mon dieu! Vous êtes le fantôme! Le Fantôme de L'Operá! Maquillage impressionnant! Ou est-ce un masque? Mais pourquoi aucuns nez et yeux de jaune? Comment êtes-vous parvenu à n'obtenir le jaune oui et aucun effet de nez?_ (Oh my god! Oh my god! You're the Phantom! The Phantom of the Opera! Awesome make-up! Or is it a mask? But why no nose and yellow eyes? How did you manage to get the yellow yes and no nose effect?)"

Radian feels as if struck by a brick. At first he blushes and then turns a deep crimson. Seeing his face flush, the obnoxious teen, Arielle, immediately shuts up and looks flabbergasted. Her astonishment turns quickly into shame and embarrassment as those seated look from Radian to Arielle, and sometimes back to Radian with mixed feelings of disgust and horror, especially as they realize that Radian's face is neither a mask nor cleverly constructed of make-up.

Lucien glares at the seated people, silently warning of the consequences if they continue with the same infantile behavior as that of which they are showing currently. He turns towards his eldest son and stands, showing no fear of his deathlike visage in order to set a good example, and also, quite frankly because he simply isn't disgusted by the so-called "lack of a face" that his son can now be said to wear.

Radian's father walks over to him and whispers in his ear, "Don't let them see that you are afraid and vulnerable. Underneath your scared exterior, you are strong—a very strong young man. Don't let this new development set you back in life. Now, are you ready?"

Radian blinks away the shy tears and nods slightly. Lucien leads his son to the table, introduces him to those who have never seen him (to which he bows appropriately and blushes), and pulls out the chair next to him at the head of the table. His mother, he notices, is turning visibly green at the sight of his now-horrid visage. Radian frowns, exacerbating the distortions of his face. Noticing the tension mounting between his son, siblings, and especially his mother, Lucien speaks out to break the uneasy silence.

"Well, let us dine together finally after all these years of being separated."

The dinner passes quickly but not uneventfully. Several times his younger brother, Maurice, who was used to always being the center of attention (whether for good or bad reasons) all the time because he was the oldest son around, makes some snappish comment or another and just bout outright challenged Radian. He might have succeeded, too, if not for some quick intervening by Lucien.

As soon as Radian finishes with supper, he rather snappily excuses himself and climbs to his immense bedroom suite—a chamber that, of course, is the only kind of room suitable for the eldest son, the de Chagny heir, the vicomte.


	7. Chapter 6: Arguements

Radian refused to come out again for two weeks after the "supper incident" as it came to be called afterwards. Maurice was "grounded" for a good three weeks (just about a month, and no leniency would be granted)—with no television or internet privileges. Lucien was dead serious about the punishment, even though Amellé objected, saying, "It is too unfair" and "too serious a punishment for such a little thing"—but it was just because, and Radian's father knows it, too, Maurice is her favorite and always has been. Of course he (Maurice) was not happy about it, either. Currently, Lucien was in a heated argument with his wife, Amellé, once again. The fact of the matter is that she refuses to listen to Lucien and accept Radian as her son once again.

"It is not the boy's fault that he looks that way!" Lucien shouts. He knows the reason, and has tried to reason with his wife and explain the circumstances to her, but she refuses to listen. And it is beginning to get on his nerves, her refusal of acceptance. It has gone so far that she refuses to sleep with him in the master bedroom anymore, much less provide a good shag!

"Then why?" Radian's mother demands brazenly. Growing up in the upper crust of the _nouveaux riche_, she was (and still is) a spoiled little rich girl who always got what she wanted—no matter what its price or personal cost. She wasn't quite as mature as she once seemed, in fact she still isn't mature, and these fights just go to prove that particular point. No matter how patient Lucien is with his wife, none of his patience ever seems to transfer to her. Either that, or she just doesn't have a calm, patient temperament, which, unfortunately, is entirely all too possible.

"You would never understand," Lucien responds, knowing that she would dismiss the explanation as heresy and fairy tales. He had already tried explaining the situation to his wife several times, and every time she dismissed him as an idiot. But he is in no way an idiot, and several times she threatened to leave him if Lucien did not throw the so-called "imposter" out or produce her real son.

"Try me," she snips. _As if you would believe me anyway,_ Lucien thinks to himself, while she thinks, _Go ahead, and tell that lie again, I dare you. I still won't believe you._

"Sit down, _ma petite_," the French count commands. She readily obeys, easily reading the silent threat contained in his eyes and his facial expression. He proceeds to tell the tale again—but not the skimpy, glossed over version he's told her before. He tells her the complete story (as much as he knows) with all the details he understands and knows, and for once, she pays close attention. At last she realizes that the story is no mere bedtime tale and tradition, but a disguised form of a truth and warning kept alive through the generations.

"You aren't kidding, are you?" Amellé finally understands and accepts what she's always known in her icy heart, but would never admit to.

"No, _mon amour_, I am not 'kidding', unfortunately. Do you _still_ want to kick Radian, _our eldest son_, out on the street? Or leave because of something that none of us really had control over, given the unforeseen, but nonetheless inevitable, circumstances?"

Tears escape from her highly made-up eyes. "What about school? How shall we cope with such a devastating blow to our family name and image? We surely shall become outcasts in society! We'll be the talk of society—and all for the wrong reasons!"

Lucien is just about fed up with her childishness. It's not that he does not love her—no, very much the opposite _and_ always would be faithful to her, unless she gave him reason not to trust her. He sighs, places a hand on Amellé's shoulder, and looks her straight in her eyes.

"You know I love you, but you simply _must_ stop this nonsense. The family, going back many generations, have always known that this would eventually happen. And we were warned through familial oral tradition and story. You were not born into the family, and therefore _do not really_ know or understand. And frankly, I don't really care. He is my son, my heir, and neither you nor society will change that. If you cannot deal with that, you _can_ leave. As for Radian, he will be attending school. He is, after all, not yet an adult, and very smart and quick as far as I can tell. He starts when school starts, and that's final."

Her mouth is hanging open in astonishment—no one has ever really told her no before—almost as if she had just been slapped physically. She shuts her mouth and turns a right shade of red with stubborn anger. She makes an undignified noise and storms out of the parlor. _Well, that went rather well_, Lucien thinks to himself.


	8. Chapter 7: First Class

Radian is prepared for school, but he is still very nervous. His siblings had already entered the academy, but he is afraid of the effect that his image will have on the other students attending this institution. A single tear, filled with mixed emotions and the knowledge which he seems cursed to bear, wells and forms in his left eye, hidden by the shadows of his now deep-set eyes. He is scared, yes, frightened of what may result, and without a doubt, he has good reason for these feelings and trepidations. After all, what would they think if they knew he had the face of a corpse? And it is more than likely that they will find out sooner rather than later, as the mask that his mother forced him to wear against his father's wishes is becoming rather itchy for Radian.

He pulls his hat down to shade his golden eyes. The halls are crowded and relatively noisy, which bothers Radian and starts to cause him to feel panicked. He feels trapped and wants to run, but he knows that he cannot do that. He knows that despite this feeling of claustrophobia, he really needs to get to his first class. One problem, though: he is unsure of where it is exactly. The mask that his mother made him wear for the sake of her reputation is made of cloth, which she actually sewed _herself_ for once instead of either buying it or having someone else do it for her. As has been stated before, she was and still is a rather spoiled little brat of a rich girl who never had to do anything for herself, work, or help out and never grew up. He already dislikes the confining nature of said cloth, one reason being that it is making his skin itch more and more. Radian knows that the more it itches, the more he cannot will himself not to itch his skin, and if he itches his face, he could easily tear it, cut it, and cause it to bleed. Why? Because he knows by experience that it will happen because of the thinness and somewhat brittle nature of the skin that is there now, forming part of the visual effect of a living skull.

Radian finally reaches his first class, which, incidentally, is an English foreign language class, and how he got in that class he did not know, and would rather not be there, much preferring to be in some class where he could work solitarily, such as art or music, which he has found he has some serious strengths in since the _Change_, along with most sciences and an interest in magic and architecture. He walks up to the teacher, a foreigner herself, although unlike Radian she was also born in a foreign country, England, to be exact, and introduces himself as Radian de Chagny. She is delighted to have him in her class as Radian, through no fault of his own and despite trying to escape any and all attention since the _Change_, is somewhat of a celebrity, and she gladly offers to help him in his studies and in her class if he needs her help throughout the term that she has with him. Radian didn't really care, he much rather would be simply left to do his work and learn. Already he could tell she too was insatiably curious for a glimpse at what he looks like now that he is older—whether or not he has become handsome in his teenage years like his famous father, the comte. He sighs, knowing this is just the start of the scrutiny and curiosity that he knows will no doubt follow him throughout the rest of his life. He makes his way to the back of the room, lithely moving in between crowded rows of desks and haphazard chairs that obviously belong to said desks, finally reaching one of the desks furthest back and sits down. His whole body practically relaxes with relief at being out of what will be the view of most of the other students while he will have an unparalleled view of those same students. He watches as groggy students file into the room also and take their seats where they chose to seat themselves. Yet, no one chose to sit near the masked teen, Radian. Perhaps they were afraid that he was insane or some freaky Goth. As soon as the other teens stop trickling in and are seated, although they still are gossiping as if there were no tomorrow. Radian reaches up to grasp the cloth covering his face and pulls off the annoying garment. The air, sweet, cool, and refreshing to his irritated skin and twisted features, causing the teen to release a grateful sigh. A chorus of groans from those who caught sight of his grotesque features reaches Radian's ears and he is ashamed of their reactions to something he has no control over. He does not want to put the uncomfortable over his face again. Even the teacher looks sick, Radian observes.

Madame Bethany grimaces. She had been told that one of her new students this year is special and to treat him with the utmost respect, but no one told her he would be like this! No one had told her he would be so monstrous.., so…ugly, so…deformed. She does not know if she can stand having him in her class all year, much less this semester.

"_Bonjour, les infants._ Hello. This is an immersion class, so we will be speaking as much as possible in English," she greets, only to be answered a fresh chorus of quite a few groans. _The jocks, who probably only took this class as they heard it would be an easy grade, are once again eyeing the chicks_, Radian thinks to himself. _And eyeing and selecting their victims for the year to torment, also. No doubt I'll be one of those unfortunates—unless, of course they are too disgusted by my horrid appearance._

"I am no child," Radian mutters under his breath. He opens his sketchbook and starts doodling the girl, who, if someone asked Radian, he would say is nothing short of a living, breathing angel. He knows, however, that he would never be able to "hook up" with her, as the American youth would say, because of his unique "condition". He rests his head on the palm of his hand and sighs. Long blonde hair with white highlights, fair skin with a wonderful smattering of freckles, and clear-as-crystal blue eyes; she is most certainly quite a beauty in his eyes.

The teacher drones on and Radian quickly becomes distracted, his mind wanders onto other subjects and ideas. Jacques Levin, a notoriously aggressive bully in this school, is studying Radian quite closely, all the while withholding his utter revulsion.


	9. Chapter 8: Lunch Part I

Classes came and went for the teenagers at the school, including those assigned to Radian. They passed quickly, until it was deemed time for lunch. Radian fears this "period", and why wouldn't he? He knows that behind his back and when he is not looking or even when he is not in the room or hallway, his "classmates" are gossiping and telling lies about him. Not that he could do much about that, he knows. Especially not after the "episode" that took place at the beginning of first period…which is why he is being more careful what he says and does after that. When they are not _gossiping_ and _lying_, they are "making fun" of his monstrous looks that rumors of which were already making the rounds, along with his curious ways of speaking and his odd mannerisms.

As soon as they are dismissed, the students race for the cafeteria. Reluctantly, Radian follows the hungry crowds. At one time in his life, he remembers sadly, he would have been among the first to arrive to get the best food. Now, that opportunity does not have the same appeal to him as it once did. Over the summer he has found himself much less hungry and food to him simply became an occasional necessity. But when he _is_ hungry, he eats quite a lot. Another reason for not eating is that, quite frankly, he is too embarrassed to eat in front of people, lest he make them feel "sick".

He knows the school will not let him get away with not eating, what with him being so very thin in the first place. So, when he reaches the food, he makes an attempt at being interested in the food being offered this day for lunch, finally settling on a light salad. Sighing, he pays for the food that he knows he will not eat, and sets off to find somewhere to sit and at least _pretend_ to eat. At the very back, furthest away, is such a table, and he makes his way over. By this time he had visited the school's drama department and "borrowed" a silk mask made of a deep, bloody scarlet overlaid with intricate black and silver patterns. _At least,_ he thinks to himself, _I won't interrupt the other kids' lunches._

As he walks past a table full of boys that belonged to what the Americans of his youth called soccer and other sports, Radian hears several snickers. He wants to turn around and strangle them all, but he ignores them and continues on.

A voice calls out after him, "_We'll let the rest of this school know joust how much of a coward you are besides being a freak!_"

He answers in a low, quiet voice that is heard only around their table, "_It takes a braver man to walk away from a fight than it does to instigate one."_

They looked around for him, thoroughly angry now, but he had already left the vicinity. _That blonde, muscle-bound idiot,_ Radian muses, _is someone I guess I will have to keep an eye on…_


	10. Chapter 9: Lunch Part II

"Can you believe that jerk?" One of the boys at the jocks' table spouted after Radian's last response. Full of anger and annoyance, they are all irritated because no other kid had ever dared talk back to them like that.

"More like _freak_ to me," the blonde named Jacques answers. He alone out of the boys at the table knows what lies behind the silk mask that Radian is wearing now. Jacques currently has no qualms about sharing this knowledge and spreading it, which, if the subject of his derision knew he would certainly object.

"What do you mean?" Asks another muscle-bound teen.

"You haven't yet wondered what is behind that mask that kid is wearing? Or why he is wearing it?" The other teens nod their heads yes, signifying their curiosity. "I've seen it! But only briefly, because it was so bad…" They are all paying attention to the blonde soccer player now. Everyone seems to be paying attention to him so much that a noticeable hush seems to have fallen over the cafeteria, which is most unusual in a lunch setting at school. Everyone seems to be watching, listening, or otherwise paying attention to the teen called Jacques, or as his friends call him, "Lightning" for his fast moves on the field.

He draws a deep breath, making sure everyone _is_ paying attention to him and him alone, and then continues speaking. "His face is horrible—it is no better than that of a skull from the catacombs! He has little to no eyebrows, no sign of facial hair, and his eyes are so deep-set that all you can see are black pits! His skin is yellow as of old and aged parchment, stretched tight on the bones like a drumhead! And worst of all, _he has no nose!"_

Gasps, gags, and groans ripple through the lunchroom. Unnoticed, Radian silently leaves. He is quite uneasy about the whole situation, and this only strengthens his uneasiness and queasiness even more. The chorus of groans and moans quickly dissipates and the buzz of conversation quickly returns back to a normal level. Grasping for any anonymity, Radian breathes a sigh of relief as the conversations return to normal topics—the latest gossip, boyfriends or girlfriends, sports, and summer vacations.

Jean was the first to speak back against the tale told by Jacques. "That's a load of bullshit and you know it, Jacques. No one could look like that and live! It was probably either well-done theatrical make-up or a mask, you know." The blonde that Jean was addressing looked at him and his ears turned bright red from embarrassment at jumping to such stupid conclusions. "He could have been testing out a mask or make-up for Halloween or even as a practical joke—he seems like a joker. Sure he's quiet, but he's new, and often the best pranksters that get away with what they do are quiet—being quiet attracts less attention and therefore blame. You ought to know that by now—remember Tobias? He's a legend—he was an excellent practical joker and always managed to get away with it—and he, too, was on the quiet side. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember. Oh man, how could I be so stupid?" Jacques slaps his forehead, and is greeted by hushed whispers regarding to his well-known lack of brains. "His every _move_ speaks of theatricality. How could I have therefore missed such an obvious classification? He's probably one of those drama club or theatre geeks! All the more reason to go after him, I say!"

Outside, in the hallway, it is quiet and peaceful—for now. Radian knows that won't last very long as he watches the minutes tick by on his watch. The golden watch was a gift from his father that morning. He reflects on the possibilities that are unfolding before him—possibilities unheard of and not thought of prior to his _Change_. He knows that already many doors that were previously open for him have slammed shut because of his "condition". He is, at present, wandering the halls, trying to better acquaint himself with his surroundings and the campus so that he can get to his classes more quickly and with minimal interference, interruption, or contact with people. This new body he is forced to occupy came with unwanted memories, feelings, and fears, and he sees no reason to further those fears and feelings.


	11. Chapter 10: Standing Up To Mother

As school is let out for the day, Radian attempts to find a ride home—with absolutely no luck. He _has_ been studying and practicing for his driver's license here in France. Despite his kidnapper's overbearing control of his life and presence, he had, without them knowing, managed to acquire an American driver's license, so he is prepared for the French version. Sighing, he starts his long walk home. _Well, _he admits to himself, _not so long of a walk as one might think at first… I hope…_

A half hour later, and slightly winded from his brisk walk along with carrying his heavy book bag, Radian reaches his home. Letting himself in through the gate with a key given to him by his father, Radian sighs in relief at finally being home, and out of sight of the public's eyes. Two large Great Danes and a white Borzoi-Saluki mix run up and greet the slightly overwhelmed Radian. Happily, yet still warily, the white dog gingerly sniffs him as though to make sure the tall young man is really Radian and not some imposter. Despite being just barely less than a year old, she already stands as tall as Radian's hips and the two Great Danes follow her lead when she is let out with them. Of course, the two Danes were neutered, so that might be a factor. The skinny, tall, white mutt is, after all, is one of Radian's pets—and nothing less than his favorite—that he had "rescued" from an animal shelter soon after arriving here, at his true home. But the puppy was not the only dog he adopted at that time, to help him adjust to his new life, looks, and home. Radian himself fairly exudes a strong aura of dominance, and therefore, most animals that he comes into contact with recognize him as their master and superior, if not the alpha animal in the pack or household. Satisfied that Radian is _Radian_, she jumps up and gives him several sloppy kisses.

"Down, girl, down," he laughs. "It's only been a single school day, I have not been gone all that long!" The snow-white puppy obeys immediately, although she looks slightly out-of-sorts, as if questioning why he did not want her to show him love. The masked seventeen-year-old reaches down and rubs behind her ears. _If she were a cat, she would probably—nay, most likely—be purring right now,_ he thinks to himself. Straightening back up to his full, impressive height, he says to the dog: "Come on, _Lis_, let's go inside and greet you pal, _Ombre_, you silly girl."

By the time he reaches the door, the sun is starting to set over the Paris skyline, creating long, deep shadows. Before he opens the door, if anyone would happen to see him there or eve just look outside, one could see a pair of feral, golden-gleaming cat's eyes "floating" in the shadows of the front stoop. The moment is disbanded when Radian opens the door, letting out the light from inside the house. From the smells that he _can_ smell, dinner is almost done, being served, or already over with—but which he cannot tell exactly, for how does one tell such particulars when one does not have a nose to speak of?

Quietly, Radian closes the door, not wanting to attract undue attention for being so late. But it is all in vain and for naught, because his mother, Amellé, seems to have some kind of sixth sense—as all mothers around the world, at least, for the most part, seem to have—and immediately appears in the grand hallway. Her face is a vivid red, flushed with anger, immense irritation, and disgust—and not a single ounce of concern for the welfare or safety of her son. She stands there silently for at least five minutes, or so it seems to poor Radian, fuming all the while. Amellé affects a concerned look when she hears the steady footsteps of her husband approaching. Quickly, so as not to be caught by Lucien, she "whips" him verbally with a nasty tongue-lashing.

"_What the Devil were you gone so long for? Someone could have seen you, for Christ's sake! Not to mention seen your _face! _Go straight to your room. There will be no supper for you for the rest of the week—and I'll make sure of it—or until you learn some common, good old-fashioned sense and not stay out in the public's eye for longer than you absolutely have to!"_

Behind the silk mask he has adopted, the remains of Radian's eyebrows—or at least _where_ they used to be—furrow in anger and his eyes narrow dangerously. Radian is usually exceptionally calm and easy going, but since the _Change_, when he gets angered, he literally sees red. For when Lucien's eldest son is aggravated madness often takes over his mind and dealing with him is like trying to persuade a deadly viper not to bite. His mother had just pushed him to that invisible point, pushing his mind over the edge.

Speaking in a voice barely above a whisper, he hisses, "_And what about my _face? _Does it bother you? Yes, I quite think it does… When I came home, what were you expecting? A perfect son, nearly an adult who hadn't changed since he was a child—is that it? Someone you could be proud of? Or look at without cringing in disgust and horror? Go ahead, Mother, _"punish" me. _It will not do any good; nor will it change my looks!"_

As he speaks, he walks steadily towards his mother, anger and madness combining to make his amber-hued eyes flash and burn with a demonic glow. He reaches out with his boney limb and grasps the woman's throat with a hideous strength that she cannot find in herself to break. His grip, however, does not strangle her, much as he wants to, as she is both a woman _and_ his mother—no matter how much he hates her and she hates him, although, given the chance, she would gladly "off him" as the mafia movies say.

"I _know_ you _hate_ me, _mother_," Radian spits. "And all because of my _face_—and body—a thing I had _little_ to _no_ control over. I'm _sorry_ for not being the _perfect_ son you remember, but I am _not_ sorry for what I look like _now._ _So get off your high horse and grow up for once, princess-brat-bitch!"_

He releases her and storms off to his room. A few minutes later, an angry, violent and wild melody played upon a violin "screeches" from his room. There is an odd, demented beauty in the music being played. In fact, it sounds almost as if it were some heavy metal song being played on a violin. However, the snatch of music is not a metal song, but is, in fact, an original piece that came to the top of Radian's head—metaphorically speaking, of course—and begged to be played. Over the summer, Radian had picked up the skill to play and master many instruments. He found that he was excellent when it comes to stringed instruments and keyboard-based ones, also. He had mastered the violin first, in only a matter of a few weeks, and when people listen now, they say that young Radian could easily outplay the virtuoso, Paganini.


End file.
